


Necessary Measures

by HandsAcrossTheSea, trashhearts67



Series: alpha4alpha [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Bottom Dean, Come Sharing, Fisting, Fullness Kink, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Top Sam Winchester, Watersports, gaping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 14:52:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18368288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea, https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashhearts67/pseuds/trashhearts67
Summary: Sam's always going to take care of Dean, even when Dean's the one who puts himself in the situation all by himself.Dean doesn't have a problem with it.Timestamp #3 in the alpha4alpha verse





	Necessary Measures

**Author's Note:**

> READ THE TAGS. PLEASE.
> 
> We really have nothing left to say for ourselves. Nothing at all. The next one will be SOFT AS HECK, we promise - but for now, here's a great big kink festival. Because reasons. 
> 
> This was also written in what can only politely be called a lust-induced haze, so if it's bad, please GENTLY let the authors know. We won't bite.

“Another one of those, please?” Dean drains the last of his beer, the second one of the evening, flashing the bartender his best from. She rolls her eyes, uncaps another El Sol and puts in front of him, the blonde waterfall of her hair spilling down her back. He watches it for a moment, swaying as she moves to serve another patron. She smells pretty, appealing in the way that most beta women do, and Dean remembers what they feel like well enough.

 

It's just a memory. Now he shares his bed with someone who is about as far from being a beta or a woman as possible, Mr. I Have Muscles on My Muscles. Seriously, Sam is fucking  _ stacked  _ and his chest absolutely should not be as soft to pillow his head on as it is. He's hairy, all sculpted plains and biceps that rip shirts - Dean remembers when everything hung big and loose off of that rail thin frame.

 

Now the only things about him that hang big and loose are between his legs, and Dean figures he'll be getting around to handling them soon enough. Christ, Sam has finally started wearing fucking underwear again too - Saxx, because of course he would buy skivvies that are tailor made for supporting big alpha cock. He liked it more when Sam wasn't, but at least now he can snatch a pair off the top of the laundry pile and shove his nose into them. The fucking laundry room back home is a come trap, mostly from Dean sniffing Sam's jocks or trunks and being unable to stop himself wanking against the washer. 

 

Brittany or whatever her name is almost certainly doesn't let anyone sniff  _ her  _ panties, Dean wagers. Dean grins, sips more beer, watching her push her tits up at a rugged hot beta male - Derek, is the name he catches, and she definitely has the hots for him. Smells her get turned on, and Dean gets that, wet at just the sight of his guy. Good for Derek - he's getting head later, all that long blonde hair gathered up in those tattooed fingers while she swallows him. Guy probably has a nice, thick cock, the kind that makes you come back for more and more. 

 

Dean gets that, too. It's been bang bang bang between him and Sam lately, more squeezing cases between fucking than squeezing fucking in between cases. He likes it that way, full access to his mate's body and cock. That fucking cock, perfect,  _ long,  _ thicker than anything fair, and Sam gets it up inside his goddamn guts with nothing but full commitment. Makes him squirm just thinking about it, and he can feel the slick start to trickle. Not like that's anything new - eight years of mated life, and Dean is long use to the warm dampness of his hole lubing itself up just at the thought of him. Some things don't change, and his desire to have Sam as much as possible is one of them. He's even more possessive of him now more than ever and Sam, finally, is figuring that out.

 

It probably wouldn’t kill him to go wipe his ass anyway. He doesn’t need to turn any heads tonight, not unless it’s Sam. Little shit had dimpled his way into more time at the library, promising he wouldn’t touch anything after they closed. He’d been in his fed suit (which hangs stupidly well on him, especially with the tie loosened and the jacket off, all shoulders and tits and… shoulders) and all he’d had to do is smile and wave his fake badge. The little old lady at the desk didn’t stand a chance, and Dean had actually been jealous, her getting that sweet look from him. All Dean ever gets is a growl and a nip to the side of the neck, and that’s when Sam is feeling  _ gentle.  _ Sam flirts in the way that makes folks grin back, blush, then try to get all coy for more, and he pretends to not know it. 

 

Getting Sam out of his head is fucking impossible these days.

Dean sits down on the toilet and wipes the slick from the inside of his thighs, ignoring that he’s half-chubbed and dripping precome. He’s trying not to breath, the acrid tang of beer piss and God knows what else clinging to the atmosphere like the world’s nastiest fog. Listens to the omega who’d been at the bar a couple seats down (he’s close to a heat, the scent of it as clear as day on him) come in and latch the stall door next to him. Dean gets up, flushes, lets him go about his business, going slow about tucking himself back into his CKs. He could crank one out, just to ease the pressure, that way whatever it is he gets into with Sam lasts a little longer. It’s been a long time since he dropped a load in a bar toilet bowl, enough that he shouldn’t even be considering it. One whiff (and it’s one too many) of the air and he already knows someone’s gotten it on in here tonight.

But he also doesn’t want to excite the omega in there with him. Not his to do anything with, and certainly not a scent he wants Sam to find on him. Fucks with his alpha, and he gets… mopey. It’s weird, wrapped around each other’s fingers, and Sam still thinks some days that he’s going to drop everything and find someone “normal.” Sam - no one else, and he’s not even here - is the one Dean just considered stroking over, tucking himself away and washing his hands. He manages to get his dick calmed down, realizing that he’s not hearing  _ anything  _ coming from the end stall.

He sniffs again (seriously, this bathroom is  _ gross)  _ and there it is - fear. He’s hiding, and Dean’s protective instinct kicks in hard enough that the three beers he’s had aren’t really making him all that fuzzy anymore. He goes over to the stall, voice dropped low.

 

“Everything okay bud?”

Nothing.

Dean knocks, and checks to see if there’s feet. There are, no pants around him, and Dean hears the sound of thumbs tapping nervously away on a screen. He’s barely even breathing, trying to make as little sound as possible. Dude must be hiding, and before he can even get another word out, he smells them. Four of them, easily. Alphas, rutty, drunk, loud, coming down the hallway. Dean squares up, catching  _ bet our toy’s in here, whatya think  _ as the door pushes in. They’re young, unmated, bonded by their mutual lust, blinded by it. They aren’t here to fight for this guy, no - they’re here for something much, much worse. 

 

“The fuck are you looking at?” The one in front - as tall as Sam, not nearly as broad, but still a threat with his buddies backing him up. “You gonna stick up for that little cunt’s honor?”

 

A small, sharp gasp of complete fear escapes from behind Dean.

Answers that question, doesn’t it?

“Leave him alone.” Dean lets his hands go loose, not a single weapon on him, beyond instinct. He wasn’t anticipating needing one, especially since Sam was supposed to have been here by now. A gun is good, but a Sam is better - but a gun can’t be late, either. “He’s not yours to mess with.”

“Not anybody’s, yeah.” Alpha #1 stalks forward, liquor on his breath making Dean screw his eyes up just a little. “He’s mine. Just needs a little sweet talkin’.” 

 

Dean scoffs, giving it about thirty more seconds before someone takes a swing. He sees the two alphas in the back barring the door, the next right behind their leader, or whatever the fuck he is. “Then why the hell’s he hiding in the bathroom?”

“Cause.” His hand drops, grabbing his own crotch. “He knows we’re gonna rip that tight little c-”

He never gets to finish his sentence, his nose spraying bright red from the punch Dean just nailed him with. He roars, swinging again, and finds the alpha’s jaw - but all it does is piss him off more. These guys have rage on their side, rage at not getting what they want and Dean standing in their way. Dean tucks in, defends his stomach, taking the punch on the shoulder as he drives his fist into the second one’s stomach. There’s banging at the door, two on one, and Dean barely manages to escape getting knee capped. This isn’t his first bar fight, but it’s close enough to being the only one in the fucking bathroom. It’s close, dirty, and Dean’s only ace is experience, these goons nothing compared to a demon screaming  with all the wrath of hell down on you.

Dean takes a hit to the ribs, dodging another swung at his head, and brings number two down, landing a hard kick to his jaw that carries with it a hell of a lot of hurt, steel-toed boots and all. One of the guys at the door jumps in, fresher than the first one (who’s still trying to break Dean’s jaw) and that’s when a knife appears, making this shit show a lot fucking worse. He takes a swing with it, Dean dodging left, still keeping himself between the stall door and these clowns. Three on one is slightly more fair, but again,  _ there’s a fucking knife. _

“You think that toothpick scares me?” Dean grins, spits blood where he got his lip split, fists up and stance ready to crash into the first one - at least he stands a chance of the third down. “Motherfuckers don’t do this often, do you?”

 

“ _ DEAN _ !”

 

Sam’s voice is so fucking loud that all three of his assailants jump, and God, it should not be fucking possible in the middle of a fight, but Dean gets  _ hard.  _ He smells Sam before he’s even yanked the door off of one hinge, all deep, primal fury and protection, not even stopping to blink at the guy who, at this point, was never going to hold that door if he had a gun to his head. Sam snarls, smelling blood, and the guy is tossed into the hallway headfirst, kicked in the back before Sam is plucking Knife from where he stands, snapping his wrist so cleanly that Dean hears the bone snap, the knife clattering to the floor. He’s thrown out, daylight actually appearing under his soles and God, it’s like watching a hurricane form - but the worst hasn’t come yet.

None of them have hit Dean.

The one who has?

Sam has his hands around his throat and has him shoved up the wall before Dean fully realizes what’s happened. The alpha whimpers, clutching at Sam’s hands - not a goddamn chance buddy. Sam squeezes and squeezes, growling, snarling,  _ you don’t touch him, you never, ever fucking touch him, he’s mine, you don’t touch him -  _ Dean yanks Sam off, clocks the guy in the nose again and tosses him out, barely escaping with his life. Sam starts to go after them, and no, Dean isn’t gonna let him murder anyone tonight - the broken ribs and wrists and concussions are enough.

“Sam-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Sam rounds on him, punches the wall above the urinal (it fucking dents) and Dean pulls him in by the lapels of his jacket, foreheads pressed together, this close to going over the edge. Sam growls, catching his breath, heart beating so fast that it’s like a drum under his skin. Dean wipes the blood from his lip and kisses Sam’s chin, stroking his hair,  _ it’s all over, baby boy, all over, I’m fine, they weren’t after me, promise. _

Shit, they  _ weren’t  _ after Dean.

He’s just so used to it that he’d forgotten all about the omega, and right as he’s about to look, the stall door swings open and the omega steps out, sobbing, looking at Dean, then to Sam, then back to Dean.

“You need a ride?”

“My...my brother’s coming to get me, I… are they gone?” He peers out, seeing the knife on the floor - Dean picks it up and hands it off to Sam to hide from view. “He… god, I hate him. I don’t want him, I’m friends with his sister, he....”

“Hey, hey, listen - you don’t owe him a damn thing, not ever. You get out, you get home, okay?” Dean rubs his shoulder, and  _ dares  _ Sam to growl at him. He’s a kid, probably not even fucking old enough to be in here. “She around, your friend?”

“Never showed up, which is when they started pawing at me.” He takes another step towards the door, still scared out his wits. “And I ran out of suppressants, they… smelled me. I…” Kid’s got a million things in his mind right now, and his own fucking biology is trying to screw him up even more. Dean goes first, looking around, putting himself in front, Sam in the rear, walking him out of the bar. Dean will settle up in a minute, but he’s not going anywhere until this kid’s ride shows up.

“What’s your name?” Dean watches the parking lot, looking around for any sign of his harassers.

“Adam,” he says, clearing his throat. “It’s Adam. You’re Dean, and this is…”

“My brother, Sam.” Dean looks at him, and Sam’s got a soft, curious look in his eye, the perfect definition of “handsomely intimidating” in his scuffed up suit and tie. “Who was late, as usual.”

Adam laughs, and looks up at Sam too. “I hope I didn’t ruin your evening.”

“Nah,” Sam says, finally uncrossing his arms and putting his hands in his pockets. “Now that I know it was just Dean being Dean. Aggravating as it is, this time it  _ was  _ for a good cause.”

“Always is, princess.” Dean smiles - hurts like hell to do, but the blood dribbling down his chin anew is worth it. “Gonna be okay?”

Adam nods, and perks up when he sees his brother pulling into the lot. “Yeah - thanks for coming to my rescue. Worth it Grayson calling me a damsel, I guess.” 

There’s something about the way he says “Grayson” that makes Dean think this time, he won’t be in heat alone. Because it’s acceptable for that sort of thing, if the biology is right. Doesn’t codify for him and Sam, but hey, Dean’s not going to open that argument up today. Society’s dumb as shit about that sort of thing anyway.

They stay until Grayson’s car is out of sight, and Dean finally lets his breath out. Dean can empathize with the kid, he really can - how many bars did he sneak into underage? He admires that kind of spirit, even if he knew better about his meds. Hell, maybe he was hoping for Grayson to come and get him, do the same thing that Sam just did for Dean.

“He’s fine,” Dean says, mostly to himself. “He’s fine.”

“Dean?”

They should have this conversation, probably. Definitely. Especially if it means less time between getting Sam inside him and now. “You can’t be pissed at me for this, Sammy, I literally walked into it.”

“I’m not - just curious to know why you look so happy about getting in a four on one fight.” Sam crowds closer, looping an arm around Dean’s waist, his musk everywhere, still charged with adrenaline. Dean stops, pushes Sam against the side of a Suburban and inhales at his neck, sighing with relief. This is all he wanted all along, just Sam, maybe a game of pool between shots, a slow, easy evening that ends with Sam’s knot pushing the rim of his hole so wide open that Dean can’t fucking walk tomorrow.

“Yeah, that… watching you tear ‘em open was hot. Stupid hot. There, I said it, your righteous fury gets me wet.” Dean pulls away, can’t stop fucking looking at Sam’s face, his beard, his hair where it curls right at his jaw, every goddamn thing about him impossible to ignore. Dean doesn’t  _ want  _ to ignore him, honest. Why would he?

“Dean, seriously - you liked protecting him, didn’t you?” Sam gets them walking back towards the bar, apparently  _ not  _ in the mood for a blowjob in the parking lot. Coward.

Dean sighs, annoyed more that Sam is smart and correct than that he's correct. “It's been a while since you were that little, and clearly you're more than capable of looking after yourself.” Sam raises an eyebrow like he didn't just bust three heads without a second thought. “And it felt nice being the big guy for once. I had 'em, Sammy, I swear.”

“And they were going to gut you, then probably take turns with Adam while you finished bleeding out. Call it necessary intervention.” Sam kissed the side of his head making Dean grumble, again because he's probably right. The knife changed things, for sure, and Dean definitely isn't going to be upset about Sam wading in - even if he did have to go near feral to finish the job. Sam probably didn't even realize it, but seeing Dean's blood like that? He definitely gets why.

And he still smells really fucking hood.

Back in the bar, things have mostly gotten back to normal (except for the alphas and omegas giving them the weird look that screams  _ we can't figure out what you two are _ ) and Brittany smiles up at him, then gets downright giggly when she sees Sam behind him.

“Want one for your friend?” The way she straightens up and puts her smile and made-up blue eyes to work is admirable - she certainly wasn't trying that hard with  _ Dean.  _ It's the suit it has to be, and that infuriating beard.

Sam smiles back, keeping eye contact, nice as he can be - right up until he leans down and licks Dean behind the ear. Dean  _ moans,  _ Brittany's smile falters, and the hormones that hit the air from Dean getting wet so fast his head spins put a massive urgency to their situation. Sam knows what he fucking did, and Dean is starting to suspect that he didn't really want to drink all that much anyway. 

“Settle up with the nice lady, pretty boy - think  _ I  _ might need some looking after.” Sam's pressed close right up against his back, one hand hooked in his waistband. Letting Dean know that  _ he's  _ the one he'll be going home with, not Brittany. Dean pays, playing it steady and not like he can't smell every fucking inch of Sam's body. He wants him so badly he hurts, way more than before, now that the rush of violence has passed and all he can focus on is Sam.

Dean doesn't manage a reply, not really, just slides Brittany a twenty and follows Sam out, nearly biting his tongue in half when he sees Sam reach down and adjust his erection. Just serves to reinforce that they need to book it, and now - how the hell he's even hungrier for Sam's cock now is beyond him. He was ready to go find him, ride him in whatever archive Sam had secluded himself for the evening.

The Impala sits like a beacon, gleaming black and promising. Dean gets the keys out of his pocket with shaking fingers, Sam watching him over the roof, predatory, possessive, smug about Dean being completely his, probably riding his own pride that he pulled Dean single handedly out of a bad situation. He won't rub that in yet, not until Dean's been fucked so hard his bones are loosened and Sam can pillow him against his chest. He doesn't mind the pillowing part - it's idiotic, to turn down extra contact time with his own fucking  _ mate  _ \- but if Sam's going to brag, Dean is sure he can lock himself in the bathroom.

With the way Sam's scent is hooked in his nostrils right now, that might be difficult. Shit, Sam can brag all he wants, so long as his dick is somewhere deep inside Dean’s ass. 

“I still need you like that, you know.” Sam sits with his head back and eyes closed, dick nearly perfectly outlined in his suit pants. Dean reaches over, moves Sam's hand out of the way to grasp and cup, pleasure flooding his system just from feeling the heat of Sam's arousal. Sam groans, legs spreading wider, full fucking access - Sam will give, and give, and give more. Always does, and Dean just… needs. Needs Sam.

Two way street.

“I know, Sammy.” Dean pulls his hand away, palm held to his nose, covered in musk. He feels his cock swell harder, his knot already burgeoning. Damn it, he needs to be out of these clothes ten minutes ago.  “Still could have taken them.”

Sam growls, either from arousal or the memory of how close he came to getting his guts spilled all over the bathroom floor. “Can think of  _ lots  _ of other things I'd rather see you get.”

“Like fucked?”

The next stoplight nearly has Sam in Dean's lap, the fabric of his shirt twisted up in Sam's fingers as he crashes their mouths together, tongue immediately finding Dean's. Dean's lips part wide, his mouth bitten, licked into, bearing the full promise of just how hard Sam is going to breed him when they get back to their room. God, they could wait, Lebanon is only an hour away but Dean honestly doesn't think they would make it all the way back without serious issues.

The truck behind them lays on the horn and Sam turns and snarls through the back window, prompting Dean to put his foot down. Tires screeching as they rocket across the intersection, Dean feels slick wet the seat under him, soaked right through his jeans. He can barely focus his vision, his entire world focused down to nothing but musk and the wetness of his own hole, Sam still jammed up against him,  _ so fucking wet for me already, pretty boy  _ and there is no way he can get out of this car fast enough. 

Their hotel appears in the distance, and Dean gets a spot right in front of their door, cutting down the time to getting inside down to  _ almost  _ an acceptable level. He fumbles the key card, drops it, getting Sam grabbing his ass when he bends to pick it up. Dean growls, swings the door open, shirts off in ten seconds, pants in fifteen, clothes dropped until he’s naked on the bed and Sam’s right there with him, fighting with his buttons and ripping the last three. Dean hears them ping off the wall and table, his musk suddenly  _ there,  _ right in Dean’s face and he’s fine with being on the bottom, really, wrists pinned above his head with just one of Sam’s giant fucking paws. 

“God, Dean, the fuckin’ smell of you.” Sam’s got his fingers on Dean’s hole, scooping up slick, licking it greedily, messily off of his knuckles. “Cunt’s just goddamn soaked, waiting for me.” He kisses Dean, a tangle of teeth and lips that Dean bites into with possessiveness, his lip bleeding  _ again.  _ Sam growls, laps it up, hand still between his legs.

“Gonna wreck me, alpha?” Dean wriggles his hands out from under Sam’s grip and hooks them behind his knees, pulling them back and showing off his hole even more. “Go on, Sammy, ‘s yours, fill me up.” Dean isn’t even particular about  _ what  _ fills him up at this point, just so long as it happens. Sam growls, shoves Dean up the bed and he gets two fingers, sliding in without even a hint of resistance. Crooks them, makes Dean moan, prostate found right away. Sam fucks them in and out, kisses Dean, sucks his nipples, goes back to his mouth, pulling every little sound out of him that he can. Sam doesn’t go easy on him, fucking him just like he’s warming Dean up for his cock, finger number three added.

“Fuck, Dean, you’re just… fuckin’ taking it for me. Pretty boy, prettiest fuckin’ boy.” Sam presses his face against Dean’s neck, watching Dean’s dick throb and drip. Precome soaks his stomach, pearling and flowing the harder Sam works at opening him.

“ _ More. _ ”

Dean wants more, harder,  _ deeper.  _ Sam licks his jaw, teases the rim of Dean’s hole with his pinky. Dean makes himself relax, head back and mouth open when he feels the tip slide under,  _ fuck fuck fuck fuck, Sammy, fuck, please, give it to me, please, swear I’ll be good  _ and it’s in, God, it’s  _ in him,  _ four of Sam’s thick, beautiful fingers, sliding in and out and making a goddamn mess of him, slick soaking the blanket, just as good as Sam’s dick, different, more pliable, his prostate surrounded, felt,  _ milked.  _ He’s all too aware of Sam’s thumb pressed against his perineum, the last fucking thing, stupid to want, but shit, Dean’s need is dialed up to a million for no other fucking reason than it’s Sam, he fucking saved him, and Dean’s a slut for it, any fucking thing Sam wants to do to him.

“Sammy,  _ please. _ ” Dean reaches down, fingers wrapped around Sam’s wrist. He makes Sam look at him, lust burning like the center of a star in those hazel eyes, gray-gold, focused on Dean, and only Dean. He wants it, so, so bad that he’s aching for it, wants to be filled, surrounded,  _ claimed.  _ He’s fucking floating and Sam nods, kisses him, rubs his thumb against the rim of his hole and he’s already so, so full but Sam is gonna give him more, fill him up  _ more,  _ and at the end of the day that’s all he ever wants. 

Sam, just Sam.

Dean howls when he’s aware of that last little bit stretching him, the blunt tip of Sam’s thumb sliding in and he’s there, all of him, all five fingers and Dean sobs, mouth pressed against Sam’s, feels Sam’s fucking  _ fingers  _ move inside him, his prostate overloaded with sensation already and it’s too much, not enough, completely unable to control it when he comes all over himself. Sam kisses him,  _ so pretty Dean, takin’ my whole fuckin’ hand, prettiest you’ve ever been, God, Dean, fuckin’ love you like this -  _ and Dean comes and comes, feeling fire at the base of his cock, his knot so hard and swollen that he’s this close to bursting. He whimpers, tries to fuck himself down further - but Sam stops, eases his hand back just a little, pressing up and in - Dean can’t help it, his bladder emptying all over his body, pissing all the way up to his chin. Sam licks it up, kisses him, sweet like he doesn’t have his entire hand in Dean’s ass, so much slick and musk and scent filling the air that Dean could drown in it.

“Sam… Sammy, c’mon, I…  _ please. _ ” Dean isn’t even sure what he’s begging for at this point. He’s mindless with pleasure, still needy, still hard, his cock twitching and leaking, piss and come soaked into his skin. Sam takes his hand out, all the slick in the goddamn world pulled out with him. He looks down, inspecting Dean’s hole - “Dean, pretty, it’s… so fuckin’ pretty, Dean, can just slide right in.

Sam turns him over, and he does.

Dean’s on his chest, his hips raised and even with how stretched he is, everything is so oversensitive that Sam’s fucking dick feels  _ enormous,  _ shoved balls deep so fast  in a way that should be unnerving - but Dean loves it, the way Sam fills him up again so easily. He reaches back, feeling the precome pouring from his cock, enough to lube himself up. He can’t touch his knot, it’s too much, can barely stroke his dick - not that he needs it. Sam’s got him lit up from the inside, big fucking hands holding on tight to his hips.

He slows down, leans over Dean’s back, wrapping an arm around his chest to pull him upright. “Need me to slow down?” Sam’s voice is a wreck but it’s clear enough, and Dean shakes his head. He’s in fucking heaven right now, like every receptor in his body is being overloaded with dopamine. He’s high on it, high on Sam, every fucking touch a fireworks show.

“Don’t you dare.”

Sam growls, shoving him back down. Dean bites the pillow, getting louder and louder with every stroke of Sam’s hips. He can feel the sweat dripping from the curled ends of Sam’s hair, hitting him on the back and mixing with his own. He has the sheets pulled from the corners of the bed, needing  _ something  _ to grab onto. His dick is swinging between his legs, slick and precome dripping off the end and Sam keeps reaching down to scoop it up and feed it to him, fingers shoved in his mouth and Dean tastes nothing but his own body, the same fingers that were just spreading his ass open so wide that he felt like he was about to come apart. 

Dean sucks them clean, only for Sam to growl again. He wasn’t done yet, so Dean squeezes back, clenching his ass around Sam’s dick at the apex of his thrust - Sam’s caught off guard and his fingers dig  _ hard  _ into Dean’s hip,  _ I’ll give you fucking more, pretty boy  _ and yeah, Sam, you better. He’s chewing through his lip with pleasure when Sam shifts and his leg comes up to arch over Dean’s body, one foot planted in the floor, the other on the back of Dean’s neck. Sam slams into him, breeding Dean’s ass until he’s moaning just as loud, fucking and fucking and fucking, the world blurring into nothing but sweat, pleasure, Sam - all he needs, right here, and when his second orgasm rips through him he’s on the verge of passing out, his heart slamming itself against his ribcage. Sam comes with a roar, slick deep and sloppy, Dean still held in perfect place.

His knot catches, barely hanging on - but he does. Sam can’t go  _ anywhere,  _ locked with Dean, and they fall facedown on the bed, half on their sides as Sam pulls Dean up to his body and plunges his tongue back into his mouth. Dean groans, sated in a way that he didn’t know he could be, fingers grasping weekly at the sweaty mess of Sam’s hair.

“You… God, Sam, where the hell you been hiding all that?” Dean doesn’t ever really want to move again, safe, surrounded, filled up by his alpha. Like his whole fucking being is  _ singing. _

Sam huffs a warm breath against his neck, hand moving up to rest in its usual place over Dean’s chest. “Seeing your blood on the outside kinda flipped a switch, I guess.”

“So the answer was to shove as much of yourself inside me as possible?”

Sam actually makes a noise like he’s chastised, and yeah, Dean isn’t going to let that stand. “Sammy, hey - not like I didn’t ask for it.” He turns to look at him, both of them flushed so pink that it looks like sunburn. “You’re  _ really  _ good at that.”

“Yeah?”

Sam nods, eyes closing, and Dean isn’t sure if this is one of those moments where he just needs to shut up or try to talk to him more. “I was afraid it would hurt you.”

“Didn’t.” Dean aches alright - but not in a something is torn way. No, it’s a good, bone-deep, well-fucked and bred sensation, and Dean really wants to live in it for a while. “Shit, Sammy, that was fucking  _ awesome. _ ”

“I wasn’t planning on stepping on your neck like that, just… I’m sorry.”

“Possessive bastard. Good thing I’m  _ not  _ an omega. Would snap right in two.” Dean needs to piss again, but Sam’s knot isn’t going down and he’s still not entirely trustworthy of his limbs to all work together in order to get him there. The bed’s a mess, between two loads smeared into its sheets and Dean just… losing control earlier. 

Sam hums, squirming. “Uh...I can’t… Dean, I can’t pull out of you yet.”

“Somethin’ wrong?”

Oh.

_ Oh. _

Dean gets his hand on the back of Sam’s head, kisses him slow and sweet, whispering  _ let go, Sammy, wanna be filled up more  _ and Sam does, a hiccuping sob of relief shattering against Dean’s mouth. He’s flooded with warmth again, piss and come leaking out around his knot. Dean holds him close until he’s done, eyes rolling back in his head, feet tangling with Sam’s. He should be freaking out, running - but that part of his biology hasn’t been so loud lately. He just feels closer, better, their mated bond a near tangible thing. Sam whimpers one last time and when they do break apart, well… Dean will take care of it.

“Sammy, hey, listen - this? This is okay. Ain’t nothing wrong with a damn thing we just did.” Another kiss, lingering, settled hormones making his brain foggy. “And nothin’ we won’t be doing again.”

“You’re gonna start expecting an entire hand up your ass now, aren’t you?”

“Well… when you’re good at something…”

Sam pinches his nipple, and Dean yelps. “Fucker.”

“Yours.”

Ain’t it the fucking truth.


End file.
